


The Interlopers

by TonyStarkisababe1967



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Arrow Whump, Bromance, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Hurt Arrow, Hurt Oliver, Hurt Oliver Queen, Kinda, Oliver Whump, Oliver and Lance Friendship, Protective Lance, Shameless Oliver Whump, They're in a tunnel or something, a bad guy dies, shoulder injury, stomach injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-13 23:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16027880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TonyStarkisababe1967/pseuds/TonyStarkisababe1967
Summary: The Arrow pounced through shadows....or- he would have, if Detective Lance wasn't following him in the tunnels as he hunted down the big bad of the week. When things go sour, however, Oliver can't help but feel grateful that Quentin was there. And Quentin, though he wouldn't admit it, was glad he was there too. He only wondered why he felt so protective over a vigilante.Bad summary. They story is better I promise.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Arrow fan-fiction but not my first fan-fiction ever- far from it. Please bear with me. I love seeing Oliver hurt because I'm a sadist and I'm sure there are more of me out there, so if you like it please comment and let me know. It'll motivate me to finish it.

“Felicity? Dig?” Oliver swung his hand down from his ear when he heard no response. He looked around at the walls surrounding him. The tunnels must have been messing with the comm system. He swiped an arrow from his quiver and strung it. Oliver spun, ready to face the threat whose footsteps he had heard. His bow dropped seconds after. “Detective.” He turned back around to observe the environment.  
“Should have known you would be here.” Detective Lance said, also putting down his weapon. “Chasing murders in creepy tunnels is right up your alley.”  
Oliver didn’t bother looking offended. He wasn’t in the mood to banter tonight. Especially when Diggle or Felicity couldn’t hear him to compliment his quick comebacks.  
“It’s dangerous down here. You should head back up.” He started making his way further down the alley, scowling at the darkness when he heard Lance’s footsteps following him.  
“Nah, I already make it this far, the exit’s all the way back there. Plus I don’t trust you to not murder some mutant turtles.”  
“They lived in the sewers, not in tunnels.” Oliver’s lip quirked up. Banter didn’t always need a 3rd party audience.  
“Oh, sorry, I forgot you were the expert on all things superheroes.”  
“Are you calling me a hero?”  
“Oh, no- I’m calling you a stalker.” The sound of metal on metal echoed down the caverness tunnel. Both men’s faces turned back to serious. There was a job to be done.  
“Stay back.”  
“Not gonna happen.” They followed the sound, like a bat following echoes in the night. It was practically pitch black, the only visibility coming from the detective’s flashlight. The noise sounded close. Possible right around the corner, but Oliver couldn’t be-  
A hard, heavy, object hitting him in the stomach ended his thoughts. He grunted and crouched over, only to be grabbed by the arm and pulled back up, then to the side of the tunnel. He would have fought back if he hadn’t known it was simply Lance, trying to get him out of danger. Oliver stood back up, eyes alert.  
“I’m fine.”  
“Not for long!” He jumped back, bringing the detective with him. A clawed hand swished through the air where they had been standing. Attached was a large man, glaring. Thick eyebrows covered the wrinkles of age on his forehead. Above them was a tattoo. A paw.  
They moved out of the way again as he lashed out, a vicious smile on his face. Lance fired off a few shots, but they were pointless in the dark. He had dropped his flashlight when he grabbed the Arrow. It lay on the ground, lighting up only one direction enough for them to see shapes, but not details. The man growled at them- furious and animal like.  
Oliver couldn’t help but think about how he had gotten here. He should have been home, giving his girlfriend a backrub and cooking spaghetti. Instead, he was trapped in a tunnel with a man who could kill him with one quick move, along with some crazy guy with metal claws.  
They reacted once more, avoiding said claws and running a little back from where the had come. Oliver fired off an arrow, hoping it would hit and not really having time to aim. A yell alerted him he had hit the target, but the continued footsteps let him know he was still being followed. Quickly.  
With no lights, the masked vigilante and police officer stumbled through the dark. The crunch of dirt and gravel behind them was getting closer and closer. If he get could Detective Lance back to the ladder, he would be able to hold back the clawed man until he got to safety.  
But then Detective Lance tripped, and everything went to shit.  
He heard the curse before he heard the sound of a body hitting the ground. Oliver knew that he wouldn’t have time to get up before the claws reached him, so he did the only thing he could think to do. He charged at the villain. He landed a solid punch before he heard Lance get up, aiming his gun into the dark. Oliver whacked his enemy in the face with his bow, but was pushed back roughly for his efforts. Claws swung wildly, hoping to hit their target. The Arrow tripped backwards, unable to backup quick enough, and the clawed man raised his arms one final time as 3 shots rang off.  
A weight was on top of him, pressing his raised arms into his chest, bruising his ribs most likely. It was limp weight, and wet and sticky with something. With blood, Oliver presumed. He opening his eyes, not realizing he had closed them. He flinched as his view was filled with dead, cold eyes. Green. Pale. Like Thea’s. Then, the weight was gone, and there was a hand on his arm.  
“C’mon. We gotta get out of here.” The Arrow nodded, remembering where he was. When he tried to sit up however, he was reduced to an uncontrolled grunt. “No need to be sassy about it.” Something wasn’t right. Something on his stomach was warm, and he didn’t think it was left over blood from what had come out of their adversary.  
Something wasn’t right. He had thought that already. Hadn’t he? It was true, though. But the Detective didn’t know him well enough to see that, and even if he did, it was pitch black. The flash light was long gone, as was his own voice. For some reason his mind just wasn’t working well with his body. The hand on his arm hesitated, then tried to haul him up. This time the grunt was clearly of pain, soundless, accompanied by a short cry. The detective let go immediately, and the Arrow let his head and shoulders crash back into the ground.  
“What?! What’s wrong?!” If Oliver were feeling better, he would have mocked him for sounding concerned. Instead he could only bring his hands to his stomach, where the pain had made itself evident. “C’mon, Arrow. Talk to me.” He couldn’t though.  
His hands were met with warmness. Sliced leather. Slashed skin. Blood- pouring out.  
His abdomen was met with excruciating pain. Not the worse he had felt, but in the moment it felt like someone had shot him, then poured vertigo directly into the wound. His teeth were clenched so hard he was sure they would break. He pulled one arm away, to try and grab the detective’s, which was back on his left, but his right arm wouldn’t cooperate.  
Another pain made itself clear. This one duller. Not as intense. It ached, but the pain in his stomach took away from it. He let out another yelp, a groan. Something in his shoulder was hurt. Something sharp. Something sharp was in there. Not deep- well, he was pretty sure it wasn't deep. Maybe it was just numb. Blood was certainly pumping out of it, however. Possibly even faster than his stomach. He could feel it. Pulsing. He noticed that Lance was talking to him.  
“I need to go get the flashlight so we can see what we’re dealing with, alright? Do you think you’ll be okay for a couple seconds?” He wanted to tell the Detective some not so PG words for sounding to condescending, but instead he shifted his footing, digging his heels into the ground weekly, like he was trying to run from the pain. “I can’t see you. I need you to tell me if you’ll be okay.” His voice was calm, but demanding.  
“Yes.” He managed to grunt out. Success. He had spoken.  
The hand, that (now that Oliver thought about it) had felt so warm against his quickly cooling skin, disappeared. He was alone in the darkness.  
The Arrow assumed that if he were able to see, he would be dizzy. Honestly, he had no sense of where anything was. Where the walls were. Where the clawed man’s body was. Where was the ceiling? Where was….where was the ground? His breathing quickened, matching the fast, stressed, beating of his heart. What if the Detective never came back? Would he be left here? Forever? In the dark? Would anyone ever find him?  
“Woah, woah, calm down. Calm down, alright?” He was back. He came back. Oliver’s face felt wet. He wondered whether it was blood or tears. Everything hurt. “Shit, alright. That’s a lot of blood. Okay.” Always calm, cool, and collected. Even when they were kids, Lance was always the steady one. When Tommy broke his leg riding bikes in middle school, Lance was the one who came and picked them up, calmly telling them what was going on and what was going to happen. All the while reminding them that it was okay. That they would make it just fine.  
“It’s okay. You’re gonna be fine.” And then there were hands on him. The Arrow arched his back, yelling, pushing the hands away. “I need to put pressure on it.” Not yelling, but loud enough to hear over his grunts and ragged breathing. “You need to let go. You need to let me touch it.” Oliver’s eyes were clenched shut, but he could see the light from behind his lids. He was aware, suddenly, of what was going on. A lapse of clarity and consciousness. He was gripping the Detective’s wrists tight. Probably hurting him. Oliver immediately let go.  
“Sorry.”  
“Don’t be. I’m gonna put my jacket on it now, alright?” Oliver nodded, realizing the hood was still over his face. Good. The last thing he needed to make his day even worse would be the Detective finding out his identity. He thought he may have had a suspicion, but he didn’t need to confirm anything. Light pressure started on his abdomen. He squirmed slightly, trying to contain himself, feeling like a little kid at the dentist office, unable to hold still. The pressure slowly increased. He knew what the detective was doing. Easing into it so he wouldn’t notice. So it wouldn’t be so bad. He did notice. It did feel as bad. He squirmed harder, boots digging into the ground again. Knees bending, arching slightly, but the pressure held him down. He didn’t bother trying to keep his eyes opened- even if he was, he wouldn’t be able to. Everything about him was tense. His hands clenched by his side, nails digging into his palms.  
“You need to calm down. You’re not gonna make it with your heart pumping this fast.” Ah, there was the detective Lance he knew. Always blunt and to the point. Calm down. Easier said than done. He took a deep breath, only to cause a spasm and to be stuck in a painful coughing fit that made his stomach feel like someone was searing in on a stove and his shoulder feel like a rocket was exploding inside of it. “Okay, okay, don’t do that.” He glared weakly.  
“No, really?” He finally got out. He was starting to adjust to the pressure on his stomach. Or maybe he was just losing his touch of reality.  
“Anything else besides your stomach hurt? You’re bleeding a lot, but you're looking a little too pale for my liking under all that green.” Surprisingly, he was still using that gentle tone.  
“Shoulder.” Lance pressed on his left one, but Oliver shook his head. The detective moved to the next one, and the injured man impulsive flinched away. Doing so aggravated everything Oliver had hurt, putting each ache and pain on high definition. He curled in on himself on his side, the bad shoulder pressing to the ground, but Oliver was too in pain to even care. He was pulled out of his ball quickly and spread back out, held down as his hands lashed out deliriously, trying to fight something physical that was causing this level of anguish.  
“Sorry, sorry, it’s alright. It’s me.” Oliver nodded, letting his arms relax a little and trying to get out gasping breaths. Good to know. Don’t touch his shoulder.  
“Oh god.”  
“What.” He demanded horsley.  
“You must have landed on your quiver.” Oliver knew what that meant. There was currently an arrow in his shoulder. That explained a lot.  
“Is it all the way through?”  
“No, it’s lodged in from the back. The shaft broke off, arrow head’s about halfway in.” He hesitated. “Do I pull it ou-”  
“No!” Oliver replied, sassily to say the least. As though he was personally offended. “How are you…. a detective?” His uncharacteristic words made Lance pause, they reminded Lance of a certain snot-nosed brat he had known for quite a while, but he blamed it on blood loss. The only thing it accomplished was making his protective nature amp up even more.  
“We have to get you to a hospital. Or...do you want me to call your team? Have you contacted them yet?” Oliver shook his head, but that made him dizzy and his vision go dark for a minute.  
“No. Comms don’t….don’t work down here.” Lance nodded, noticing the delay, slight slur of words, paleing complexion, and rapid breathing.  
“Give me your earpiece.” With a look of confusion, the vigilante obliged. Lance held the small bud in his hand. “I’m gonna go back to the entrance, up the ladder, contact your team, tell them your location, and then come right back, alright?” He didn’t nod. “Hood, is that alright?” He clenched and unclenched his hands, looking anxious.  
“Yes.” Shortly. Lance grabbed his hand, attached to his good shoulder, and pressed his almost soaked jacket into it.  
“Keep pressure on your stomach. It’s bleeding worse than your shoulder right now, and I don’t think there’s really a good way to slow down bleeding in your shoulder anyway without causing more damage.” He nodded in agreeance. Already he felt cold without the detective’s hands on him, assuring him of his life. That things would be okay. “I’m gonna go as fast as I can, but I need the flashlight to see where I’m going. It wouldn’t do us any good for me to trip and knock myself off on a rock.” He nodded again. It made sense, but it didn’t make Oliver feel any better. He didn’t want to return to that panic of the darkness. “I’ll be fast.” Lance said again, as though he could sense the Arrow’s concern. Without another word, he scurried off, knowing he wouldn’t have much time. The vigilante was weak, the pressure he was applying almost unimpactful.  
And then Oliver was alone. In the dark. Bleeding.


	2. Chapter 2

_“Keep pressure on your stomach. It’s bleeding worse than your shoulder right now, and I don’t think there’s really a good way to slow down bleeding in your shoulder anyway without causing more damage.” He nodded in agreeance. Already he felt cold without the detective’s hands on him, assuring him of his life. That things would be okay. “I’m gonna go as fast as I can, but I need the flashlight to see where I’m going. It wouldn’t do us any good for me to trip and knock myself off on a rock.” He nodded again. It made sense, but it didn’t make Oliver feel any better. He didn’t want to return to that panic of the darkness. “I’ll be fast.” Lance said again, as though he could sense the Arrow’s concern. Without another word, he scurried off, knowing he wouldn’t have much time. The vigilante was weak, the pressure he was applying almost unimpactful.  
And then Oliver was alone. In the dark. Bleeding. _

He closed his eyes and thought back to Christmas. From when he was a kid. It was the best one he had ever had. When he woke up in the morning, he grabbed Thea, dragged his parents out of bed, and ran downstairs. The tree was blocked by giant piles of presents. Wrapping paper covered every surface, in every color. Red, Blue, Green, a few of Thea’s were wrapped in purple. He knew they were Thea’s because he had specifically told Santa that he did NOT like the color purple. He knew he would remember.  
They took turns opening presents. It took them all morning. Mom had even told them they could skip church and just play with their toys instead. The 12 year old and toddler had loved that. Later in the day, Tommy, Laurel, and Sarah came over. They each showed off their new toys. Tommy had gotten a really cool action figure- it’s arms moved when you pressed a button on the back. Laurel got a purple diary. She said it was the best thing she had ever seen. Oliver disagreed, but he didn’t let her know that. He told her it was awesome with an enthusiastic thumbs up.  
Sarah showed off a fancy new dress- wore it stunningly.  
They all had dinner together; the Queens, the Lances, and the Merlins. After, they had dessert.  
It was the yummiest apple pie Oliver ever had in his whole life. After everyone got a piece, he snuck back into the kitchen and ate the rest of it. It was delicious, but soon after he started to not feel good. He ran to the bathroom and threw up all the dessert he’d eaten.  
Quentin Lance found him there, curled over the toilet, apple pieces still stuck to his face.  
Oliver was scared he would be mad, but instead he just laughed a little, grabbed a glass of water, and convinced Oliver to take slow sips. He refused to leave the kid’s side. In a calm voice, he explained that, no, he was not dying. He had eaten too many sweets, and sometimes when you do that you get a little sick.  
Oliver was sick now, in a tunnel underground, in the dark, but he hadn’t eaten too many sweets. Instead, a crazed clawed man had attacked him, and he was bleeding to death. Those were the facts.  
The facts were also that, this time, Quentin Lance had left his side. He left him all alone. With no other options other than to lay there, and feel helpless. And in pain.  
He knew Lance was coming back. He said he would, but like before he couldn’t help but wonder “what if he didn’t?” It was irrational, but Oliver’s brain couldn’t recognize that. Instead, all it recognized was panic.  
His heart was pounding now. Oliver glared. When people say their heart is pounding, it’s really only going about 90-100. Not necessarily fast. Maybe a little hard. It’s because they’re nervous, or they just exercised, or they’re feeling extreme emotion that overwhelmed their senses.  
Oliver’s heart was pounding for none of those reasons. His heart was pounding, not because of something he had done, or was in control of, but because his body needed his heart to pound that fast in order to survive. It was pounding, faster, he knew, than what any of those other things caused. Too fast.  
That was the true meaning of saying your heart is pounding. He had learned that long ago.  
Whiplash. He was pulled out of his mind and back into the present. He tensed his hand, holding onto the jacket and trying to apply more pressure. He knew he would be in shock soon, if he wasn’t already, and in addition to the loss of blood, he didn’t have long to last.  
...He had been with someone. Someone he knew. Where had they gone? Were they going to come back?  
Silly question, of course they were. He remembered. The man had told him he would. For some reason he trusted the guy.  
Was that him next to him? He rolled slightly to get a better look at the presence he felt beside him. His eyes fuzzed around the edges as he took in the view.  
It was him- no, not Lance him, the other him. The one who had done this. The one with the claws. And he was smiling.  
Blood poured out of his slightly opened mouth. His eyes were squinted, but open. His faced one of pure happiness and content. Like he was wanted this. Already, flies were starting to gather.  
The smell hit Oliver next. Smelling his blood was one thing, but this man’s blood had a scent too. Even that smelled worse than normal. His own was a citrus-like smell. Almondy. Whole. Metallic.  
The clawed man’s was like rotten fruit. Overly sweet. Overly metal. Overly everything. It was too much.  
Oliver turned away. He thought he saw a light coming towards him. He didn’t know what that meant. All he knew was that his abdomen hurt. His shoulder hurt. His head hurt. He couldn’t breathe right. It felt like he still had the man on top of him. Suffocating him. Putting pressure on his heart.  
He couldn’t take it anymore.  
He blacked out.

When he awoke it smelled like metal. Like someone had put a sheet of rusted iron in a cheese grater and spun it with all their might. Shavings everywhere. He also immediately felt cold, and annoyed for some reason.  
The reason being Detective Lance tapping on his face. The smell being blood. His blood.  
“I got it contact with them. They’re on their way.” When had he started bleeding?  
“Who?”  
“...your team.” It wasn’t laced with aggression or condescending tones, though. Instead, it was filled to the brim with worry. It made Oliver scared.  
“Right. Of course.” Lance nodded, but didn’t stop observing the Arrow with concern.  
“I told them to bring lots of blood, and a couple strong guys. I let them know to wear their masks. I figure you have enough on your plate today.” Oliver picked up only a few words in the sentence. Blood. Strong. Masks. Plate. He wasn't quite sure what they meant, but he was too tired to ask.  
The annoying hands were back on his face. He tried to move his arms to swat them away, but the one wouldn’t cooperate. The other one was weak, and didn’t really do much work.  
“Hey, stay awake, buddy. You’ve made it this far, don’t pass out on me again.”  
“I wasn’t gonna, Mr. Lance.” The detective stilled at his slurred words. Stopped his busy hands, applying pressure on the stomach where Oliver could not. All sets of hands holding blood like it was sand at the beach. The Arrow called him Mr. Lance. In a voice that sounded like….no. He had been cleared. The Arrow couldn’t be that….he couldn’t he that kid.  
“I know. I know buddy.” It proved how out of it the vigilante was that he didn’t protest to being called buddy. Something made itself known in Lance’s stomach. A sinking feeling, like someone had pulled the plug out of a drain and now everything was going down. He needed to check the Arrow’s eyes, make sure they weren’t dilated. He needed to see the paleness on the man’s face. He couldn’t do that without putting the hood down.  
He had two choices. He could leave the hood on. Leave the guy alone for a bit, knowing he had down all he could have without making extreme choices. Hope his team got there in time.  
Or he could remove the hood. See his face. Treat him better. Know what condition he had progressed to. He couldn't tell if his eyes were closed, or reactive, or if his face was void of color. See his breaths. Was he in shock? If he was they needed to get out of there as soon a possible.  
“Go ahead.” Lance looked back down at him, not realizing he had looked away. The voice was shot, drenched in pain, but understanding.  
“What?”  
“Are you the one with blood loss now? Get a grip detective.” It must have been a moment of consciousness. Lance noticed the Arrow had been having those during his injury. He guessed it came with waves of pain. “Go ahead and take off my hood.”  
“You’re delusional.” Even on the brink of….well, Lance didn’t want to think of it that way. Even injured and in pain, the man was still observant and smart as ever.  
“No. I’m realistic. You can’t know what’s going on if you can’t see my face.” He sighed, careful not to move too much. “You were going to find out eventually.” It was that voice again. The childish one. Arrogant, but not really. A mask of confidence and security in himself. It reminded him so much of the little boy he had helped raise. The one who used to push Tommy, then cry about it because he “felt so bad”. Cry because he had a “balloon in his heart” that Lance had to explain was guilt. The one who had disappeared taking his daughter with him. “If you won’t do it, I will.”  
Lance reached out. Hesitated centimeters from the green hood. One hand still applying pressure. Flashlight laying on the ground a few feet away, pointing to them. Silhouettes in a sewer.  
And then in a second the hood was gone and Oliver Queen looked back at him. And he was crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for everyone who gave me kudos and comments, it really motivated me to finish this next chapter! I'll try and keep them coming as fast as I can! Also, I'm sorry for any spelling mistakes- I know it makes it unprofessional and turns some people away because it breaks the flow of reading. I am only human though and have no editor so again I'm sorry but there's nothing I can really do. I try to proof read the chapters as much as possible.


End file.
